Or Is It Trust?
by windscryer
Summary: “Don't move," Dean said and lowered the blade to Shawn's neck. Shawn froze, utterly and completely still. PYO ASR 'Verse. No slash.


Lu wanted Shawn to have trouble breathing. And Dean.

Like the good little puppy I am, I obeyed. *pants* Do I get a Scooby snack now? WOOFWOOF!

Disclaimer: Srsly, I wish. This crossover would be EPIC in any form. But no.

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"Dean!" Shawn shouted.

Dean whipped around to see what the yell was for and saw Shawn pointing behind him.

Which was actually less alarming than the length of rope that had just snaked around Shawn's neck, tightening with a vicious jerk and yanking Shawn back toward the old overstuffed couch. The force of Shawn's body hitting the piece of furniture was enough to tip it over, taking Shawn from Dean's sight.

"NO!" Dean yelled and ran forward, forgetting about the threat behind him, but managing to escape it anyway.

Footsteps pounded on the floor above as Sam's voice yelled, "Dean? Shawn?"

Dean planted one hand on the bottom of the sofa and vaulted over it, crashing down hard on his knees on the other side next to Shawn.

Who was clawing at the rope, digging into his skin to try and get underneath it so he could pull it away and free his trachea for breathing again.

"DEAN!?" Sam yelled again, right before firing his shotgun.

"Dammit!" Dean cursed, glancing upwards.

But there was nothing for it. There was only one of him and Sam was still moving around.

"KEEP WORKING, SAMMY!" Dean yelled back.

Shawn was gagging and gasping, his eyes bugging out and his face turning red as the blood pressure built up. Dean's efforts were just as futile as Shawn's in getting under the rope, and Shawn's grasp shifted to Dean's arm, his eyes pleading for help.

His mouth moved, open and closed and open and closed, trying to speak, to impress upon Dean how very IMPORTANT breathing was and that Shawn _couldn't do it right now_.

Like Dean couldn't see for himself.

Shitshitshit.

There was only one other option.

They couldn't wait for Sammy, there were another two floors they had to get bags to.

Dean pinned Shawn's shoulders, leaning over him and locking gazes with him. "Shawn! _Shawn_!" he said, when Shawn only struggled harder. "Do you trust me?"

Shawn bucked and twisted, trying to free himself from all of the forces restraining him.

Dean gave him a shake. "DO YOU TRUST ME?"

Shawn stopped moving, his eyes blinking at a slowed rate that suggested he was losing consciousness.

But he nodded.

Dean reached back and pulled out his bowie knife.

It was a testament to Shawn's faith in Dean that he did nothing more than widen his eyes a bit and give one last twitch.

"Don't move," Dean said and lowered the blade to Shawn's neck.

Shawn froze, utterly and completely still.

Dean swallowed down nerves and very carefully laid the blade along the rope, angling it slightly so it would actually cut through the whole thing. If he did it wrong the poltergeist would have only to tighten it and it would slice Shawn's head clean off.

Or, he could slip himself and do the same thing.

He looked at Shawn's eyes once more, saw the sardonic grin that twitched at the other man's lips.

"Do it," Shawn mouthed.

Dean nodded and sliced.

Shawn gasped and jackknifed, almost slashing his own throat on Dean's knife before he managed to move it out of the way.

He coughed and hacked and painfully sucked in as much air as he could, gripping Dean's arm still as he waited for the rush of blood out of his head to pass. Then he let gravity take over and probably would have given himself a concussion if Dean hadn't slowed his fall and gently set him down on the floor.

"DEAN!" Sam shouted from upstairs.

"Go," Shawn rasped as Dean ducked his head and lifted Shawn's to check that the small bit of blood that had welled up was just that—small. "M'okay."

Dean shook his head and got an arm under Shawn's back, levering him up.

"Nuh uh. I'm not letting either of you out of my sight again. Both of you have this thing with supernatural things liking your necks. The fuck is that?"

Shawn staggered to his feet and laughed, then hunched over when it triggered a coughing fit.

Dean supported him, but dragged him forward all the same.

As much as he would _like_ to let Shawn sit down and just enjoy breathing again, he needed to get to Sam.

No doubt something was playing boa constrictor with _his_ neck too.

Next time, they were so clearing the house out first of all ropy, stringy, cordy things. This shit was getting old.

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Review, plz&thx.


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